


Dull

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild foodsmut, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock’s salty.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Dull

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Spock loses the match. He frowns down at the pieces, his fallen king in particular, and Jim uses his queen to give it a playful push that sends it slowly rolling to the edge of the board. It falls off into Jim’s open palm. He’s grinning broadly as he sets the board back up. Spock isn’t sure he’s ready to go again so soon. He still needs time to process his defeat. Jim’s strategies are always _fascinating._

And Jim has impressive stamina, for a human—he has no trouble playing 3D chess long into the night. As he rights the first pawn, Spock suggests, “Perhaps we should take a dinner break.”

“Sounds good,” Jim agrees, He doesn’t look up, though he’s smiling softly—instead, he’s focused on studiously attending to their battleground. He even adds, “You choose dinner.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow despite not having Jim’s full attention. “That would be unwise.”

Jim finally glances up at him, brows quirking. “Unwise? Choosing dinner?”

“Vulcan taste buds are considerably different than the human variety. I believe you would find my choices... bland.” It’s true that Spock does know all the things Jim usually prefers, but Spock would never willingly order them for Jim, nor does he have the corresponding chips in his quarters. He quite agrees with Dr. McCoy that Jim needs a healthier diet than he currently maintains. The synthesizer can only compensate so much for poor decisions. 

But Jim’s stubborn, and he insists, “Try me.” He even looks mildly _excited_ for it, which is an absurd emotion to tie to basic nourishment. Spock could attempt to fulfill that anticipation, but he can think of nothing that will do so, and instead decides to make his point by ordering two of the bland Vulcan meal he wants for himself. He strolls over to the synthesizer and selects two plomeek soup chips from the drawer, inserting them one by one. He waits until both have materialized before he brings them over to the table. The board is now properly set up again, but Jim carefully moves it aside to make room.

Jim pulls one of the steaming bowls towards him and uses the spoon to lightly stir it—a practice Vulcans rarely employ. Spock merely sips his own soup as Jim swallows a large scoop. 

Curiosity flickers across his handsome face, followed by absolutely nothing. He swallows and announces, “You’re right. That is pretty bland.”

“You are free to synthesize another meal if you wish.”

Jim grins and mutters, “I’m not going to waste your soup.”

“If you do not enjoy it, it is already wasted.”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s terrible, it just... needs a bit of salt. Or even sugar. Or... something.”

Spock has never understood the human fascination with salt and sugar. He doesn’t offer either option. Jim stirs his soup, eyeing it in clear consideration.

Then he slides it across the table and gets up, standing up and dragging his chair over to Spock’s side. He takes his seat again right next to Spock, so close that their knees brush. Spock lowers his arm, spoon still in hand, only for Jim to take hold of it. 

Jim drops the spoon into the soup and starts rolling up Spock’s sleeve, bunching the blue fabric all the way past his elbow. Spock stares, too confused to properly protest, because he doesn’t even know what he’d be protesting to.

Then Jim retrieves the spoon and uses it to lightly drizzle plomeek soup across Spock’s forearm.

Spock’s breath hitches. He can guess what’s coming next, half because of his own traitorous imagination and half because of Jim’s _touch_ —the point of contact where Jim’s still holding him, connecting their minds so easily. They’ve melded too many times to stay apart when they’re in close proximity. Their katras practically stitch together of their own accord. Spock watches, tense but perhaps not in a bad way, as Jim leans down and flattens his tongue against Spock’s skin. He drags it up Spock’s arm, slow and steady, just as warm as the soup, just as wet, but spongy and tickling. Spock’s feels cold in Jim’s wake, but on fire where Jim ends up, pressing a kiss into his elbow. It seems incredibly unsanitary. Jim seems unbothered by the dark hairs in his way. He’s licking his lips when he lifts his head, grinning at Spock like the physical manifestation of _sin_.

Jim murmurs, “That’s much better.” Spock shudders. He should push Jim away. 

But he helps Jim pull away his shirt, and he helps Jim enjoy the rest of his soup the way only two _t’hy’la_ could.


End file.
